Dark Secrets
by Hikaru Irving
Summary: Oneshot, Flight of the Phoenix based. Luke furrowed his brow, folded his arms, stubbornly looking away, refusing to make eye contact. His frown was deep and jagged. "Who told you?" He spat venomously. "Jade?"


A/N: Because there are a number of things in Flight of the Phoenix that didn't make it into the final cut that would be addressed. Also, this is set in the beginning of Chapter 29, before they leave Keterburg.

Disclaimer: I am not associated in any way with Namco Bandai, nor am I making a material profit from this work. It is purely fan made fun.

--

There was no way Lloyd could get to sleep. Malcontent thoughts troubled him, the weight of worlds upon his shoulders, the image of the Colonel's eyes boring into him as he revealed one of Luke's deepest, darkest secrets without so much batting an eyelash burned into his retinas. He had lied down when the miasma toxicosis had begun to pain him, but now that he took his medicine, he was restless, pacing the room he and Ion shared like a tiger making the rounds of its cage.

Rem's light did not penetrate Shadow's shroud over the Silver World of Keterburg, the darkness broken only by Luna's radiance and that of Rem's brothers who always courted her in the vast expanse of skies above. Flanoir, too, had seen little of the sun, always was it dark sooner and longer than in other places with milder climes. Lloyd clenched his fists, frowning. He hated the cold, he hated the dark.

It was getting late now--he had only just come back upstairs after Jade had so very generously treated him to dinner. Ion had been more worn than he had admitted, and when he was this tired, he slept like a rock. Keterburg's rooms had only so many beds, so it became necessary for their circle of nine (counting Ion) to pair up. One person would have his own room; three guesses who that would be, Lloyd thought bitterly.

Finally, he couldn't stand being holed up in the room any longer. He grabbed his white scarf, wrapping it about his neck, leaving the room, although he did so quietly so as not to disturb Ion, though it was doubtful the young Fon Master would stir anyway. Part of the reason Lloyd couldn't stand being in there any longer was the secret Jade had betrayed to him.

Ion was only two years old. Only two years old, and yet ... he played his projected age so well. Sure, every so often Ion would do or say something that revealed the child he was, but much of the time, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the Fon Master was indeed a young man of thirteen or fourteen.

And then there was Luke. Lloyd stalked down the carpeted hallways, softly lit by fonstone lamps mounted on the walls. He knew the numbers of the other rooms that housed Luke's companions--Tear and Anise roomed together, Natalia and Asch, Jade and Guy, and of course that left Luke to have his very own room. For a brief moment Lloyd entertained the notion of badgering Jade, but he didn't want to disturb Guy.

Instead, he passed the aforementioned rooms, stopping at the door at the end of the hall. The gold number seemed to glare at him in the dim light. Lloyd debated in his mind: should he be here? He taught himself long ago that it didn't matter how one came into the world--he treated everyone the same way. Certainly he wasn't going to treat Luke any differently now that he knew the noble's secret--but he was still extremely irked, to put it mildly.

He paced in front of the door a few times, stopped. He faced the door, and rapped on it with his knuckles three times. Moments passed; he realized he was making an angry face. He rubbed his temples, sighing, trying to relax. He wanted to talk to Luke, not frighten him.

The door swung open, and Luke stood at the threshold, still dressed but for his scarf, coat, and sword. He tilted his head quizzically to the side, brow arched over his eye.

"Lloyd? What's up?"

Lloyd didn't ask if he could enter the room--he strode inside, Luke still looking confused after him. The lights were on, which meant Luke had been awake the entire time he'd been in here. The navy blue coat and steel grey scarf lay draped over the chair by the bedside table. On the tabletop was an open hardcover book, its pale pages glistening with damp ink--Luke's diary. But that hadn't caught Lloyd's eye.

Lloyd was staring at the diary's companion on the tabletop, a long sword with a silver hilt studded with sapphire, the blade resembling a piece of ice, giving off a cool indigo shine. The Vorpal Sword that had been stuck in the frozen river of the Vale of Roneal. Lloyd had found the sword there, and given it to Luke when the latter lost his own sword in the valley from the fight with Cantabile the Steadfast and Kratos the Ardent.

Luke closed the door, locking it. He followed Lloyd's gaze, frowning.

"Oh, did you want that back? You found it and all ..."

Lloyd's fingers ghosted over the hilt of Vorpal, cool to the touch. He never thought of it before now, but he realized that he missed the feel of its hilt in his hand, missed having it with him at all. He spoke, though he never turned.

"My dad and I hiked here in Mt. Roneal before. My dad forged this sword; we lost it the last time we came here. But ..." he shrugged. "I want you to hold onto it for me. For this sword and my style, I need Flamberge." He shot Luke a look. "Besides, you lost your sword."

Luke frowned, crestfallen. His shoulders slumped. "Y-yeah ... dammit, that sword was a birthday present from Guy and Pere ... But," here he looked at Vorpal fondly. "I like that sword. Your dad did a good job."

At the thought of his foster father Dirk, Lloyd frowned, homesickness seizing him almost violently. He nodded, slowly, as if he were dizzy. Luke withdrew something from his pocket, stepping toward Lloyd. He held out his palm, a silvery metal trinket shining in the light of fonon lamps.

"Here, it's your capacity core. I picked it up in that vale."

Lloyd shook his head, gently pushing Luke's hand away. "Nah, I never really needed that. Because," To stave off the inevitable questions, he raised his left hand. That hand, despite the glove, was always covered with a strip of white cloth. After Iselia, he hadn't bothered with it, but when he came to Daath, before he stormed the cathedral, he had resumed it.

Luke watched as Lloyd unwound the cloth binding his glove, revealing a piece of metal on the latter's hand, carved with strange runes, set with a small stone of blood red.

"I have this."

Unable to help himself, Luke grabbed Lloyd's hand, staring with rapt attention at the golden crest on Lloyd's hand, at the strange runes winding around the red jewel in the center. Luke's brow furrowed, he frowned with confusion.

" ... That's not Ancient Ispanian." Emerald eyes locked with garnet. "Are you sure this's a capacity core?"

Lloyd shrugged, not bothering to pull his hand away as Luke continued to examine the crest on his hand.

"Yeah, but it's one of my dad's devising. He made it for me."

"Hn." Luke said, eyes glued to the writing carved in the crest more than the jewel. "Looks like you have a fon slot chamber ... what, a carmine chamber? But this writing ... what is it ..."

"Have you considered," Lloyd said abruptly, pulling his hand away, "that there were other languages besides Ancient Ispanian?"

"Well, yeah, but it's not like you find them every day ..." Luke's voice was small.

"Whatever," Lloyd said, but not unkindly as he wrapped the cloth about his hand once again. "That's not what I came to talk to you about."

"Okay," Luke sank into the chair by the bedside table, folding his arms, looking at Lloyd. "Shoot."

They stood there for a long time, Luke waiting expectantly, Lloyd rooted to the spot, still as a stone statue. How could Luke just patiently sit there with a straight face, knowing that he had lied so casually? From what he heard about Luke from the others, the young noble was a being ruled by emotion, so when would the redhead learn such a poker face?

_Stubborn and hotheaded as hell._

Lloyd drew back an arm, and with all his might backhanded Luke.

Luke sat in stunned silence, his face stained pink, almost red from the force of the strike. He touched the injured side of his face, glaring daggers at Lloyd. He almost shouted:

"What the hell's that for!"

Lloyd grabbed Luke by the shirt collar, nearly lifting the noble out of the chair. The two swordsmen were practically nose to nose. Lloyd ground out,

"You. Know. What." He threw Luke back into the chair. "After all that's happened, you still don't trust me?"

"What are you--"

"I know about your little secret."

Emerald eyes went wide, jaw unhinged. Luke furrowed his brow, folded his arms, stubbornly looking away, refusing to make eye contact. His frown was deep and jagged.

"Who told you?" He spat venomously. "Jade?"

"That's not important," Lloyd said, much more calmly than just a few moments ago. "What is important is that I'm royally pissed off because even though we've been traveling together for a long time now, you didn't bother telling me that you were Asch's replica."

Luke banged a fist on the bedside table, almost upsetting Vorpal, which still laid atop its surface. "How the hell was I supposed to tell you?! Oh, hello, I'm Luke fon Fabre, but not really because I'm only his Lorelei-damned replica! I'm not really a person, just a human _thing_ without its own existence!"

Lloyd slammed a fist against the wall, uncaring that the next room over belonged to Jade and Guy, who might have been asleep. "Shut up!" He yelled, gritting his teeth. "I'm sick of your whiny crap! It doesn't matter how you were--"

Luke practically threw his chair back as he forcefully stood, emerald eyes smoldering. He grabbed Lloyd's collar, flung back a fist, and punched the twin swordsman in the face. The blow made Lloyd stagger backward; he grabbed his jaw, taken aback.

"It does too matter!" Luke shouted, his clenched hands shaking. "I look like I'm seventeen, but I'm only seven years old! I've been kept a prisoner inside my own home all these years, because I'm a replica, a product of fomicry, because I'm a pawn that Van used to overthrow Yulia's Score! People don't see me as a person, just an object, a copy! And--and--Akz--"

Luke choked over his own words, rubbing his eyes furiously to prevent the tears from falling. He turned away so Lloyd wouldn't see him reduced to this, crying like a child, even if that was what he was. Lloyd frowned.

"Luke ... I didn't ..."

"Forget it." Luke said, somewhat subdued. "You're right, I should have told you. I was just afraid that you'd push me away because I'm Asch's replica. That's exactly what Natalia did. She said, _'the real Luke is right here!' "_

Lloyd bit his lip, fists clenched at his sides. "You're real, too. You're just a different person, that's all."

"Easy for you to say," Luke retorted bitterly. "Ion says it never bothered him, being a replica. But his original is dead. Mine ..." He trailed off.

"You're constantly in his shadow." Lloyd supplied. "You can never be good enough for him, no matter how hard you try."

Luke jolted, startled. He turned to look at Lloyd, eyes wide. "Y-yeah, that's exactly ... how did you know?"

"I'm not a replica or anything," Lloyd said, folding his arms, "but I was always in my father's shadow. He was better than me at everything, and I was always trying to catch up. I'm ..." his shoulders slumped. " ... still trying to catch up to him ..."

Luke approached Lloyd, clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. Garnet eyes locked with emerald. "Don't worry so much. I promise I'll try not to get stressed about being a replica or anything, as long as you do the same for your own issues. We'll overcome them ... someday ..." For his words, he didn't sound or look particularly confident.

Lloyd looked at the hand on his shoulder. " ... Yeah. So, you're not keeping any more secrets like that? No more surprises?" Even as the words left his mouth, his heart ached terribly at the sheer hypocrisy of it. Luke had to come clean, but he still kept his own skeletons in the closet? He squeezed his eye shut, fists shaking.

Luke slowly withdrew the hand, hesitating. After a few moments of silence, he said softly, " ... I'm a murderer ..."

"What?" Lloyd asked, bewildered. "What're you talking about?"

Luke shut his eyes, brow knit. He was beginning to shake visibly. "I-I've killed ... so many ..." His voice broke, anything else he might have said drowned in heaving sobs. He sank back into the chair, hiding his face in his arms.

"Don't be ridiculous, Luke," Lloyd said, kneeling so that he and Luke were at eye level, though the young replica still refused to look up. "You have to fight to live, especially since we're going against Van."

Luke nodded, but he still hugged his knees, still sobbed uncontrollably. Not knowing what else to do, Lloyd stayed with his friend, comforting him throughout the night.


End file.
